


Save a Starship, Ride a Captain

by BlackQat



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Dancing, Dinner, F/M, Slow Burn Romance, Welcome Home, my Kat/Gabriel headcanon, same headcanon in Two Gifts, sexxins, thrilla in vanilla
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 01:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14321298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackQat/pseuds/BlackQat
Summary: Kat recalls herself with a start. Gabriel is due in a couple of hours and she wants to meet him at the spaceport in jeans and a nice shirt. With this “surprise” inside. She grins at herself. "Oh so daring. For me anyway."





	1. Oh Behave

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, Lady Fangs, I give up, I'm sticking with the original title. Even though it makes no sense because starships don't get tired ;^)
> 
> Also, some Lorcan antics within were purely inspired by Jason Isaacs' sense of fun. The vision just came to me; maybe it's all those fashion shoots.

 

Kat Cornwell is kind of shy about things sexual. She has her reasons, and Gabriel Lorca knows them, and is sensitive to that and doesn’t press her. They’ve been together (between missions and deployments) for 15 years, and Kat is as comfortable with him as if they’ve been married that long.

Comfortable enough that one day, soon before Gabe is due back, when she has picked out a dress and shoes for a non-official Starfleet dinner, to be followed by a Federation diplomatic reception, she wanders over to a lingerie display and decides to buy some lacy things. Her more modest underthings have trimmings of lace, but are not made of lace and net; no indeed, that’s not practical for every day. But who says underwear always has to be practical?

No way is she trying it on in the store. They want a fair number of credits for it, it’s beautifully made, but she needs a strapless bra, or something, to go with the green dress that she just bought, because it’s Gabriel’s favorite color on her and he loves her shoulders and he’s coming in from a months-long deployment and they’re going to this thing because he’s meeting the scientists who will be on the next mission, blah, blah, blah.

Kat’s excited to meet the scientists too, but her brain is a bit overcome at the idea of wearing this –hello-o-o!—bustier, these sheer, lace-front panties that snap on the sides, this old-style garter belt with net stockings, because she’s imagining the look on Gabe’s face when he sees her, and mentally picturing the two of them as they undress, and as they undress some more … and she startles and blushes when a salesclerk comes over and asks if she’d like to try the bustier on, and says, “No, I’m pretty sure it’ll fit,” and the salesclerk looks down her nose and clucks, “Not all bustiers are built the same,” and Commodore Cornwell comes out and says, “I will take it home, and try it on, and if it doesn’t work I will bring it back,” and the clerk rings her up, zippity doo-dah.

Now, she’s at home in her apartment, among the many plants and beautiful and antique cultural items she’s picked up in her travels (and things Gabriel has brought her from his travels too), and steps into the bedroom, which has an ornately carved screen between the bed and the large window to the balcony. “Computer, full-length mirror,” she orders after she’s undressed down to her regular not-frumpy lace-trimmed underwear.

The long, slender-cut peridot green dress, its sales tags off, hangs in readiness in the closet; it has a slit up the side; Gabriel loves catching a glimpse of her strong, slender legs. In public, a glimpse is really all he’s going to get.

_Eight years before, they were waltzing at a formal function, dress uniforms optional. Kat wore a peacock blue, full-skirted dress and Gabriel wore his Dinner Dress blues with the gold sash. His eyes looked positively electric that night, and he leaned over to whisper in her ear, “You look so beautiful, Kat. I love the way you dress.” A few more dance steps, another whisper: “And you smell divine. I like that perfume.”_

_“You should, you gave it to me.”_

_His lips brushed her cheek, and she wanted to leave immediately but they had to stay for dinner. She did think up a couple of excuses to leave, but decided not; they were having a grand time with their classmates from Command Training School._

_Later as she unpinned her hair and it fell past her shoulders, he teased, “I love the way you undress too.”_

_“Same here,” she whispered, untying the gold sash at his waist, draping it over the chair, and slipping her hands inside his royal blue tunic as she unfastened it, hearing the medals clink, feeling Gabriel’s warm, no, hot skin. “Where’s your undershirt, you bad boy?”_

_He smiled lopsidedly. “I was going to have you in my arms all night. I’d have been far too hot for civilized company.” She slid the jacket over his shoulders and nuzzled his chest; she loved his hair, every bit of it, and he responded with a happy gasp when she ruffled it and ran her tongue down his pecs to his nipples. His tunic fell to the floor and she tongued further down his torso and stopped to unclasp the waist of his trousers …. When he took off her clothes, his hands moved slowly, his fingers drifting over her, eliciting tingles in her skin, and soon they were kissing rapidly, wetly, deeply, and she hopped up to hook her legs around his waist and he carried her into the bedroom …._

Kat recalls herself with a start. Gabriel is due in a couple of hours and she wants to meet him at the spaceport in jeans and a nice shirt. With this “surprise” inside. She grins at herself. _Oh so daring. For me anyway._

She unpins the tags from the lingerie, and unwraps the stockings. _I’ll wear boots to cover any glimpse of net at the ankles. Slender-cut well-worn jeans (he likes to see my figure) and that tailored sage silk blouse. He loves soft textures._

Somtai, her Siamese cat, comes in and does an “Eeyair” in his scratchy voice, and rubs against her legs. “Marking me as yours, huh?” Kat murmurs back. “I’m afraid there’s someone else with a prior claim. Now look, no yowling outside the bedroom door tonight, you hear?”

Gabriel calls Somtai “Some Cry,” because of that extended yeowly meow. Or “Some Guy,” when the cat awakens them in the middle of the night from outside the bedroom door. Lorca usually is the one to let him in, with a sleepy: “Kat, there’s Some Guy here to see you.”

“Meh-h-hh.” Somtai marches off, tail high, toward the window, and zips through the cat door onto the balcony (there’s a forcefield surrounding it, for his safety). He loves to watch the birds gliding by, the sailboats on San Francisco Bay, and flashes of movement in the windows of buildings nearby. Kat enjoys watching _him_ , as cats are living art.

And Somtai is great company on those Nights of PADDs, when, pressed with work, she has to review personnel performance evals, statistics on impacts of service on mental health sector-wide, casualty reports; and plans to shuffle Starfleet officers between ships to make up for specialty and experience shortfalls. Thank goodness she only has to worry about Sector One right now. If she’s promoted, her responsibilities will expand, and with full-out war looming on the horizon, a rapid promotion is more likely than not.

She catches sight of her pensive face in the mirror, and thinks of an old 2-D movie Gabriel likes to quote when his humor is edging especially dark: “But enough talk about ‘oo killed ‘oo! This is supposed to be a _happy_ occasion!” She smiles, partly because of the graveyard humor she and Gabe share, and partly because it’s right: there’s a time to lighten up. And this is one. Her favorite man in the universe is coming home.

Stepping out of her ordinary panties, she slips on the lacy net ones with the tiny snaps on either side, takes off her bra and picks up the strapless “uplifter” bustier. It’s black net with light “boning” to shape her waist a bit, and lace cups, with a deep V in the décolleté. It hooks in the front, and she nods at herself once it’s on. _Nice, and not too … tawdry. And behold – boobs! Gabe should enjoy seeing me in this._ “You’re safe with me, Kat,” she remembers Gabriel saying, early in their relationship.

After that come the garter belt and the light-woven black net stockings. _Maybe edging on tawdry._ She raises her eyebrows _a la_ Lorca. “Tsk,” she says to herself. “Mens’ underwear is pretty boring compared with this.”

She pauses. Looks at herself. Studies her image in the mirror. Appreciatively turns this way and that, and thinks, _Wow. I look damn good. Sexy._ Kat’s body is well-defined, with trim muscle; she’s a runner and a surfer and practices Tai Chi for defense, and for its flowing movements that bring her mind into harmony with her physicality. She sees more curves now, at her waist and especially at the bustline, and it’s nice to see that more feminine appearance.

Kat’s not in the habit of looking at herself other than to check the neatness of her uniform, hair and light makeup (blush, lash enhancer, and lip color). When she dresses casually, it’s for classic looks and comfort. , loves soft textures and quality; but hadn’t indulged much in her younger days, uncomfortable with sensuality. Until Gabriel.

 _Even though this underwear is fitting some sexy archetype, and doesn’t feel completely like … me …_ she turns her back to the mirror and looks over her shoulder _… I can play with this archetype and enjoy it. Part of it is me … the femme fatale … who’d’a thunk it._ She grins, seeing a picture of herself, a new one.

Feelings are rising, a thrumming in her solar plexus, and lower. Kat runs hot water in the tub, pours in perfumed bath oil, and hides her new underwear in the closet, just in case Gabriel gets home early. She imagines the look on his face, a loving smile, mischievous eyes that range up and down her form, and his arms encircling her, and … and ….

She sits back in hot, steamy water, clenching her thighs together, her pelvic muscles pulsing. She enjoys the sensation, and decides to just let it roll and build until Gabriel arrives. She soaks until the water’s heat has gone off, and scrubs with a loofah to make her skin soft. As she towels off vigorously to bring a glow, she can almost feel Gabriel pressing light kisses from her head to her toes.

She shivers happily at the prospect, fetches out the fancy underwear, and gets dressed.

.

Properly, it’s not a spaceport; that designation’s for the starship docking station orbiting Earth. But all those shuttles have to come somewhere, as do the individuals beaming off their ships, so Kat Cornwell is walking through San Francisco Spaceport. Looking for Gabriel Lorca’s … _did he even tell me, shuttle or transporter pad? For crissakes, I haven’t had time to breathe at work lately, today’s the first time I’ve had in weeks to goof off and now I’ve lost my damn boyfriend!_

_Stop. Gentle breath. Be still, and open to the energy. Let it flow through – not crash into – you._

She turns, slowly, and scans the crowd of people streaming this way and that, focused on finding one figure. And there … there he is!

“Excuse me … pardon me …” she lifts her head as she’s making her way through and waves her arm like a crazy person as she bobs up. He sees her and lifts his chin in acknowledgement. Closer now. He’s slinging the strap of his carryall across his body and eating up distance with those long legs of his, and she—

bumps full-force into a heavy Denobulan, whose bags go flying, and with breathless apologies, Kat’s rushing to help her retrieve the bags, then Gabe is helping too, and they get the Denobulan woman and her luggage figured out and, as she lumbers away, stand smiling at each other.

“Well hello there …”

For a young captain whose face has become inured to expressing skepticism, grace under pressure, and the tight-lipped reining in of emotions in moments of command, Gabriel Lorca still has an incredibly sweet smile. And he’s shining it upon her, and she rushes into his arms, and they squeeze each other joyfully.

Once in her apartment, Gabriel lifts Kat off the floor in a tight hug and she throws her legs around his waist, hugging his neck. “Oh, god, there is nothing like coming home and holding you, Kat.” He grazes her face with kisses until she groans happily.

_And being held by you._

His cheeks feel silky. He must have shaved before he left the ship. “Mmm, I love your scent.” It’s the mixture of his body chemistry and the aftershave she’s given him every year, sandalwood with hints of bergamot, pepper and leather. She slips her arms down to circle his torso, laying her head in the hollow of his shoulder, loving his solidity.

He’s running his hands up and down her back. “What ... are … you wearing under this?” A smile slowly spreads across his mouth and lights his eyes.

She hops down and leads him to the couch.

“I’m intrigued.” There’s that sexy Lorca smirk. He reaches out a hand as if to unbutton her blouse. With a playful smile, he trails his fingers over her jawline, down the side of her neck, and … can’t feel any straps.

Smiling brightly, she grabs and kisses his roaming hand. “You’ll see.”

“Oh, I suppose I will,” a sly grin as he nuzzles her neck.

“Eventually.” Kat puts her arms around his shoulders, pressing her lips to his jawline and up his smooth cheek.

“I missed you,” she whispers, and her mouth meets his. They like to start slowly, small kisses, getting deeper.

They stop, breathless, and they’re looking into each other’s eyes and saying lots without words. Gabriel’s expression is soft; he only looks like this with her, or with intimate friends and family. Hardly anyone in Starfleet sees this Gabriel Lorca. Kat’s expression is also open, as it seldom is these days.

He traces the side of her face with his finger. “God it’s good to be here.”

“It’s so good to have you back.” She softly kisses his throat, letting her mouth linger. “Computer, time?”

“The time is 1723 hours.”

“Gabe, we have to be there at 1830.”

“Dammit. Really? Twenty hundred would have been ….”

But she’s standing up. “That’s when the diplomatic reception starts. But dinner ... it’s going to take us a little time to get there, you know. And we have to dress. Dress up.”

“What, this won’t do?” Smiling ruefully, he gestures at his black turtleneck, jeans and all-weather jacket.

“No, of course not. We’re dining at Revenir, and then mixing with ambassadors. Could you wear your deep blue suit?”

Sigh. “Not my uniform?”

“Oh you kidder. Unless you have your Dinner Dress blues with you.” He shakes his head and sighs. She can see him thinking, _two layers of clothes, damn._ Kat gestures toward the bedroom. Gabe jumps up and paces in quickly, turning his head to waggle his eyebrows at her. She shakes her head, following, to open the armoire, and pulls out his blue wool suit. He grabs a pure white silk shirt. Kat hands him a foulard pocket handkerchief, peacock blue, with dark blue medallions.

“I was going to pick that,” he says, mock-hurt. And, as Kat heads for her walk-in closet: “aren’t you going to let me see?”

“Later! And no peeking.”

“Wow.”

Kat’s trying to zip the gown up the back, but she can’t quite reach. The zipper’s about three inches from the top. When she comes out, Gabriel’s nattily dressed. “Oh you look nice.” She kisses him; his response leads her to say, “It’s only going to be a couple of hours. You’ve been telling me for months you wanted to meet these people.”

“True. I just wish we could postpone.” Running his fingertips from her jawline down to the curve of one breast he bends to kiss it, then the other. “This is nice. I like low-cut look on you. You look … lovely.”

“Thanks.” She turns in an age-old gesture for him to finish zipping up her dress, deep teal satin with pleats across the bustline and which skims her figure. His hands travel down her back to her hips, and he pulls her in toward him, turning her to face him. A deep kiss, then kisses raining on her face, down her neck …. She pulls back reluctantly. “I have to put up my hair.”

“But I like it …”

She kisses him. “I want to feel your hands on my back when we dance.”

His eyebrows raise appreciatively. “By all means, then!”

“Then we really have to leave.”

In the bathroom Kat quickly puts her hair into a high French twist and dashes on some makeup. Eyelash enhancer, blush, and lipcolor. A little brush of blush in the creases of her eyelids. Done. Padding out to the bedroom, she steps into some non-torturous dressy shoes and sits to fasten them. Smiling, Gabriel falls to one knee and takes one foot in hand, and, raising it, kisses her ankle and the top of her foot, then does up the straps. “That’s a preview of later. Straps all right?”

She nods. “Sometimes you make me want to swoon.”

He strokes his fingers over her other foot, and under the arch.

She smoothes his hair and taps his forehead. “Darn it, _stop_ , we have to go.”

He straps up the shoe, and they’re off. She grabs her bright moss-green embroidered pashmina on the way out the door. It has dark blue peacocks on it, which suits the two of them, dressed up as they are.

.

At dinner, which is delicious, Kalsoom Solangi, an astromycologist, and Namas Jha, a physicist, discuss the possibilities of developing a new drive for starships.

“I have to be honest,” Lorca says, “When I first heard about your research, I thought ‘Are you kidding me?’”

Kat is thinking, _are you kidding me?_ not because of the research, but because Gabriel (the crafty bugger) has seated himself next to her, on the side where her dress has the slit up the leg, and is slipping his hand under the fabric. Under the table she smacks it. He traces his fingertips to her knee and gently runs his nails over it, which he knows drives her crazy. Her thighs tremble a little and she’s tingling in her lower abdomen.

Solangi laughs and accepts her dessert from the server. “Don’t worry, that’s what most people who travel by warp drive say.”

Smoothly, Cornwell crosses one leg over the “open” knee, trapping Lorca’s fingers, giving him a saccharine smile. “What most people don’t understand is the idea that you can merge physics with biology,” she says, spooning up some of her _mousse au chocolat_. In an undertone she says to Gabriel, “Behave.”

He gives her the side-eye and a little smirk, whispering, “If I behave badly I’m still _behaving_ ,” and she releases his fingers so he can eat his orange soufflé.

“It is not a merging; it’s a recognition of their commonalities – the very essence of existence!” Jha’s enthusiasm has kept Kat’s brain happily working all evening. Although she is a medical doctor and psychiatrist, Astrophysics tends to make Kat tune out a bit, but Jha makes it understandable and interesting. And Gabe is definitely keeping her awake.

And so they talk after dinner, through part of the evening, Kat and Gabriel enjoying single-malt whisky while Solangi and Jha sip mint tea and fruit juice respectively.

“So!” Solangi says. “There is a diplomatic reception at the Federation Embassy, yes? Are you going?”

Gabriel nods. Kat can see his reluctance, but she gives his arm a squeeze. “It’s why I’m wearing this fancy dress!” she says aloud, and murmurs at Gabe, “There’ll be a good orchestra there, you know there will.”

.

.

Lorca is a very good dancer, a firm lead, easy to follow. Cornwell recalls this reputed indicator of lovemaking skills and, amused, reminds him. He laughs and says, “You’re a pretty good dancer yourself.” Wink. He’s one of the few men she’s met who enjoys it. The first pursuit, that is. It seems 99.9 percent of men universally enjoy the other.

They’re taking a break from dancing and sipping cool drinks on the terrace. Their dinner companions have started chatting with some other scientists, and are off on a terrace with a different view. Kat says, “I know a place right here where we can lie back and look at stars.”

Gabriel is thinking hard, trying to figure. “Where?”

She points up. “The roof.”

He gets a conspiratorial smile, drains his drink and holds out his hand. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” he whispers.

“Sometimes you speak and I have no idea what the hell you mean,” smiles Kat. It must be that anthropologist on Gabe’s ship, he’s crazy for that “jive.” And it amuses Gabe no end.

.

There they are; it’s an uncommonly clear night in San Francisco. They can see the bridges, their lights shimmering on the water of the Golden Gate and East Bay, and looking up, can see stars directly overhead. City lights do wash out about 20 degrees of the sky, sadly. They’re lying back in a specially designed picnic area; there are declensions and elevations to simulate lounges and seats, and all around them is grass. There are a few other people but the roof area is huge. Lines of solar panels half a level below surround the building so the view at the top is not obscured, and the park insulates the roof.

“Look.” He points up. “Spacedock.” He looks over at her and raises his eyebrows. “Want to come up to my ship and look around?”

She pulls her pashmina more tightly around her shoulders and shakes her head. “How do you manage to make everything sound like a _double-entendre_?”

“Brilliance? Talent?” Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he whispers, “… a preoccupation with making love to you?” And kissing her temple, he’s murmuring things into her ear and his warm breath and the words he’s saying give her a quiver of delight. Then his hand slips to her knee, and up, and feels bare skin at the top of her stocking. He explores this, and Kat almost wriggles. She opens the top button of his shirt, then another, slips her hand inside, and strokes lingeringly. His turn to wriggle, and adjust his trousers.

Kat says, “Let’s go home.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lorca's foolishness early in this chapter courtesy of the puckish Jason Isaacs, who for some reason popped into my head one morning being outrageously playful. 
> 
> This is the thrilla in vanilla chapter. Explicit sex [Yay]! Enjoy

Gabriel puts his warm arm around her pashmina-wrapped shoulders and snugs Kat into him on the lift down. He’s the one with the flat shoes so he gives her a hand here and there to steady her as they walk home over uneven pavements and curbs, and when they get to her building he keys open the street-level door, and the front door on the 35th floor. It’s a ritual of theirs, and Kat loves it. _Home is the sailor, home from the sea,_ she thinks.

They go out to the balcony and Somtai greets them: “Raow. Raaoooww.”

“Hello there.” Gabriel bends to pick him up as Kat steps inside, and he and the cat regard each other for a moment, two pairs of intense blue eyes. Somtai blinks. “I won. You can’t out-stare a captain.” Somtai jumps down, hightails it to the living room and hops up on the chair, kneads for a bit, circles, and curls down to sleep. He has left a swath of white undercoat on Lorca’s sleeves.

Kat comes out with two small glasses of amber liquid. “Michael Collins single malt,” she says and hands him his. They clink glasses. Gabriel says, “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Kat rolls her eyes and smiles. He’s said this before. She gets what it means, but teases, “I’m older than you.”

“Well, you can say it back to me.”

“Okay, here’s looking at you, kid.”         

They sip their whisky, put their glasses down, and share a long kiss.   

“So …” he says, looking down at her, his eyes shining with anticipation.

“Hmm …” she shivers. “Kind of cold out here, let’s go in.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“I’m not asking.” She looks up at him teasingly. She’s forty-two years old, but still has the cutest dimples.

The patio door closed, he puts his arms around Kat and makes as if to unzip her gown.

“Oh, no,” she says. “You first.”

This is unusual. His eyebrows go up and he smiles lopsidedly. Gabriel walks out onto the silk Oriental carpet in the middle of the living room and poses, assuming an expression of brooding, romantic intensity.  He can’t help the slight smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“Mmm,” Kat says. “You are a very sexy man.” Then, “Computer, windows, privacy screen.”

“No show for voyeurs?”

“Nope. Just for me.”

“Okay, then. Enjoy,” he grins. He pulls the pocket handkerchief from his jacket and flutters it out, tossing it to the floor. Does a half turn, and begins to shrug his jacket off, down one shoulder, then the other, pulling the sleeves oh-so-slowly so they slip down his arms, revealing his white silk shirt, which is a tiny bit translucent. He turns his head so he can smolder at Kat over his shoulder and lets the jacket slide to the floor. She claps. Kat loves when he goofs around.

Now for the shirt, which he slowly unbuttons, giving her glimpses of his bare torso, then turns away and slips off, inch by inch. It gets stuck somewhere on his right elbow and he’s about to shrug it back on to start over when she moves to him and slips it down, kissing his freckled shoulder and well-muscled upper arm. He bends his head toward hers and lands a quick kiss on her temple before she steps back. He finishes slipping his arms out of the shirt and twirls it by one arm and drops it. Gabriel does an about-face and bows deeply from the waist, and, eyes twinkling, begins to unbutton his trousers. Kat’s smiling radiantly. 

She almost says, “shoes,” but wants to see how he’ll manage it. Her smile gets bigger. The fly of the trousers is open and he starts lowering them … then realizes his shoes are still on his feet. Shaking his head, he grins, throws his hands up in the air laughing, and – leaving  the trousers halfway down his thighs – toes off his shoes, then his socks, steps backward, and back again, sort of scraping off the pants, and they’re on the rug, halfway inside-out. An amusing bewildered expression from him and Kat’s outright laughing now. All that’s left is his underwear, black boxer briefs that “cradle” him perfectly.

She keeps watching, but he stops and cocks his head at her, smiling expectantly. He extends his hand in a “now you” gesture.

“I’ll need a little help.” She turns her back to him as he comes over. “Just the first three inches.”

“That’s what _he_ said.” Ah, military humor. But spoken in that throaty, deep baritone, Kat couldn’t give a damn. The sound of Gabriel’s voice is one of the sexiest things she’s ever heard.

Unzipping that little bit, he holds her briefly, kisses the nape of her neck, her shoulder blade, then around to her right ear and whispers, “I look forward to seeing you!” The tip of his tongue brushes the outer edge of her ear and his warm exhale into her ear makes her breath catch.

Kat takes a few steps away, and facing him, looks into his eyes. Slowly unzips her dress, and moves as if to lower it, then pauses, her smile disappearing, eyes lowering a bit, then hesitantly going back up to his. She’s palming the front of the gown to her breast. But Gabriel’s holding her gaze, love shining from his eyes, and he’s wearing a gentle smile. Holding her in the moment, without rushing to embrace her, saying without words, “It’s okay. You’re okay, and you can do whatever you want, and it’s all right with me.”

Kat smiles back at him, holding the front of her dress and bending to unstrap and kick off her shoes (literally – Gabriel catches one), then straightens, angling away from his gaze, to slowly lower the bodice, and she’s in a position where he can see her side, the curve of her, in these most interesting undergarments. She steps out of the dress.

Turns.

Gives him a saucy smile with her hands on her hips just above the lacy flounce of the bustier. “What do you think?”

“I think …” Gabriel clears his throat. “I think I like the look of you, Commodore. In fact it would please me no end to know you might be wearing some of that lingerie next time I see you in uniform. Sir.”

Then he breaks into a delighted smile. Steps toward her.

Kat points. “Off with your briefs, Captain. And that’s the last order I give today.” She fully admires his nudity, and says roughly, her eyes gleaming, “Everything after this will be requests.” She swallows, deep emotions swelling up.

“Are you taking requests as well?”

“Indeed I am.” She walks to within half a step of him, wraps her arms around his waist, and feels his complete arousal; he’s pressing against her lower belly. She stands on tiptoe. Their lips meet, and they gradually work into a deep kiss; Kat touches his chin and breaks off to kiss his face, as if blessing his features, and then whispers in his ear, “Welcome home.”

He says, “If I may ask you to take my hand, here …” and kneels, shins flat on the floor, sitting on his heels, holding one of his hands up so she can lean her hand on it, and slowly takes her left leg by the ankle, tonguing her instep, then the top of her foot, then kissing and nuzzling his way up to the top of one stocking. When he reaches her thigh she almost loses her balance from a near-swoon, and he neatly slips her foot over his shoulder so the back of her knee is resting there, his arm up so his hand can hold her upper leg firmly in place. He puts her hand on his shoulder. Leaning in, he noses and tongues along the line of her panties, and draws his head back to look at her hip for a second. A dramatic, “A-ha!” and his able mouth and teeth unsnap one tiny fastener … the underpants are halfway off and he’s using his free hand to go between them and …

“Oh, my,” she groans as her trembling hands move to rest on his head. One set of fingers is moving through his hair and inadvertently tightens. “Oh this is good. You’re good, you’re so good …” She’s tingling deep inside and all around her thighs and, and …

He unsnaps the other side of the panties, removes them, and begins working his mouth around where she’s wet. “You … are … coming …” he says in between using his tongue to lick between her folds.

He’s right. Kat’s standing leg is shaking so hard he steadies her with his free hand cupping her bottom. But his thumb is forward, slipping in and out of her. Her hips shake, and her torso almost snaps forward with the sudden wave of release. “Oh, Gabriel. My Gabriel.”

.

He steadies her as she lowers herself to the floor and onto his lap and he slides into her. They rock together, and he clings to her as they come, explosively, noisily. When they gaze at each other their eyes are full of joyful tears. He kisses her gently. “It’s so good to be home.”


End file.
